


The Heart in the Machine

by Harriet_Watson_1895_88



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Mary Morstan is Not Pregnant, Mary Morstan is Sebastian Moran, Morgue scene fix-it, Season/Series 04, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 04:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17277146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harriet_Watson_1895_88/pseuds/Harriet_Watson_1895_88
Summary: After the fall, Sherlock & John never quite found the road to fixing what was broken. The events of series 4 were the ending we were shown but what if the true story has yet to be told?A S4 fix-it to give Mary the chance to be the epic villain she could have been, remove pointless plot babies & give Sherlock & John the Garridebs moment they truly deserved.





	The Heart in the Machine

　

"And I know what Moriarty is going to do next!"

Sherlock bounded towards the limo like a kid at Christmas, no outward trace of the apparent overdose that had rendered him unconscious minutes earlier. John shook his head and guided Mary to the limo with a hand on the small of her back, her silence heavy as he refused to meet her questioning gaze.

 

 

........

 

 

Sherlock thundered up the stairs & burst through the living room door, coat flying as he turned to face John following close behind. As soon as John stepped across the threshold, Sherlock gently closed the door & locked it behind them, calmly removed his scarf and coat, and walked around to lock the kitchen door for good measure. The rushing whirlwind of only a few moments earlier had all but vanished into the ether as Sherlock calmly walked to stand before John, staring down at him intently.

 

"John, we don't have much time," he began, holding John's questioning gaze unblinking, "I need to tell you some things & I need you to trust me when I tell you that NOTHING I tell you must leave this room otherwise both of our lives will be in danger."

 

John briskly nodded an affirmative at Sherlock's words, his gaze unwavering.

 

"Sherlock, is this about Mary?"

 

Sherlock held firm.

 

"John, I'm so sorry," he began, his bright eyes dimmed with sadness for the blow he was about to inflict. "Please," he gestured to John's chair. John strode across in a couple of steps & sat heavily into the seat, knees apart and bracing his elbows on his knees, mirroring the way Sherlock often sat.

 

"Ok, this isn't going to get any easier, is it? Spit it out."

 

The leather creaked loudly in the surrounding silence as Sherlock lowered himself into his armchair and took in a long breath.

 

"John... there is no baby."

 

.....................................

 

 

At the sound of John's key turning in the lock, Mary awkwardly pushed herself to her feet around her increasingly large bump, and reached the hallway as she heard the door close to find John removing his scarf & jacket. He turned & offered her a too-tight smile that never reached his eyes.

 

"Didn't think you'd still be up," he offered, walking past her and towards the kitchen where he reached up to the top shelf of a cupboard to pull down a pint glass. He filled the glass from the cold tap, gulped down the water, slammed it down on the counter as he braced his free hand on the side of the sink and paused before turning to face her. "Can I get you anything? Glass of warm milk or something?"

 

Mary wordlessly shook her head.

"You're late," she stated flatly. "Were you with Sherlock?"

John shrugged nonchalantly.

"Mycroft had some paperwork for me to sign. Witness statements for Sherlock's pardon."

Mary nodded matter of factly.

"Ok. Well I'm off to bed. Will you be joining me?"

 

John looked down.

"Still a bit wired after today, yeah? Think I'll watch a bit of tv before I come up." He leant forward & kissed her lightly on the cheek. "'Night, try to get some sleep. In your condition, you'll be needing it!"

Mary smiled weakly & kissed him on the lips.

"'Night, love. Don't stay up too late, hmm?"

He saluted weakly and dumped his glass into the empty sink.

"Yes, Ma'am."

 

 

At the sound of Mary's heavy footsteps on the stairs, John opened the cupboard, pulled down a tumbler, picked up the previously-used pint glass which he half-filled with water and walked to the living room with both hands full. After switching on the television, he pulled the bottle of Macallan from the drinks cabinet, filled the tumbler with two fingers before adding a dash of water from the pint glass & sinking into the still-warm sofa cushions as he stared mindlessly at the episode of Taggart & swirled his whiskey in the glass in a kind of silent meditation.

 

The cool amber liquid coated the inside of the glass, sliding down the sides like honey with each swirl, the water visibly mixing with the alcohol until it became homogenous & slightly warm. He didn't take a sip, just watched it glow in the dim light from the TV until he became too tired to hold his arm up.

 

Whiskey abandoned to the coffee table, John curled his legs up beneath him, shuffled down into the scatter cushions until his head rested comfortably next to the arm of the sofa & closed his eyes to the soothing Glaswegian lilts murmuring from the TV as he drifted off to sleep, pulling down the throw blanket sleepily from the back of the sofa & draping it clumsily around him.

 

The wool tickled his nose as he buried his face in the scratchy finish of the blanket, faint remnants of the soap & aftershave & the slight musk of the previous owner lingering still after several months since he had taken it from the sofa at 221b.

 

Upstairs, Mary lay awake with her eyes closed, listening to the sound of John's gentle snores & the quiet mumblings of the TV floating up the staircase & through the crack in the door. Another night on the sofa. She turned awkwardly & reached around to loosen the heavy rubber bump underneath her tight pyjama t-shirt just enough that she could breathe a little easier, cursing the thing but knowing that removing it would be suicide if John came to bed earlier the next morning. Not long now.

 

.........................

 

Sherlock & John climbed the stairs to 221b just as John's phone buzzed. 57 missed calls & 5 new voicemails. John halted half-way up the stairs as he put the phone to his ear just in time to hear Mary's straining voice in the first message. Her waters had broken & she was on her way to the hospital since he wasn't answering her calls.

 

John deleted the next 4 messages, assuming that it would be much of the same & took in a deep breath before looking up at Sherlock towering over him on the next step in disbelief.

 

"How-?"

 

Sherlock cut him off as he slipped by John on the stairs to go back down the way they had just entered.

 

"You won't get there in time," he offered sharply, "By the time we arrive she'll have given birth. To a girl whom she'll insist on naming Rosie."

 

John threw his arms in the air in resignation, phone gripped tightly in his fist.

 

"Sherlock, where in the HELL is she going to find a baby and how long am I going to have to keep up this charade of having a kid that isn't even mine?"

 

Sherlock swirled around on the middle landing and gazed up at John, his eyes soft & a deepening crease between his eyebrows.

 

"John, I can guarantee you that in a few months, this will all be over. I know this seems utterly insane but I PROMISE you that, whatever happens, the child will be returned to its foster parents unharmed & you won't ever have to see or hear from Mary again." He stepped back up to where John was standing and reached out to gently grip his arm. "But, for now, she mustn't suspect a thing. If she does, she'll kill us both and possibly the child too & because I haven't quite figured out how, I can't stop her!"

 

John bounced his phone impatiently on his thigh as he stared unblinking at Sherlock's desperate gaze.

 

"Ok, let's get this show on the road!"

 

Sherlock released the breath he'd been holding, gave John's arm an involuntary squeeze & lowered his voice, pinning John with a relieved stare.

 

"That's my dear Watson."

John froze in Sherlock's grip as Sherlock released his arm, his hand hovering in the air, suddenly the breath rushing from his lungs as his ears caught up with his mouth. John stared, unblinking as Sherlock cleared his throat.

 

"Bit not good?"

 

John's eyes widened at Sherlock's question before his lips slowly lifted at the corner.

 

"No... no, it's..." John coughed, "it's all fine."

 


End file.
